


The Bitter Taste Of Regret

by VileThing (EffingEden)



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novel)
Genre: Cutting, F/M, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, POV First Person, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 15:31:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7579534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffingEden/pseuds/VileThing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I swallowed hard against my rising gorge, not trusting myself to speak just yet, and couldn’t tell if He wanted me to nod or shake my head. He fiddled with the knife as the silence stretched, sliding the blade back and forth absently. I couldn’t look away from it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bitter Taste Of Regret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoathsomeSinner (CheshireSparrowe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireSparrowe/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Boyfriend To Death](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/216073) by GatoAfterDark. 



> Written for a [tumblr prompt](http://vilething.tumblr.com/post/144788003870/thread-starters-kink-edition); 55. Relax your throat
> 
> Strade belongs to [Gato](https://tmblr.co/mckuXE8FjWd-ndwfz4Wsltg), he can be found in the free murdersim [Boyfriend To Death](http://boyfriendtodeath.com/index.html).

The knife was just a generic box cutter, the handle two shades of grey and the slider aggressively orange, like those warning cones. _Danger_ , the slide warned, _this is not safe_. What a fucking joke. The blade peeked from its sheath, the cutting edge gleamed brightly under the halogen lighting, and He turned it to-and-fro to make the light run over it, my eyes followed it hypnotically - only to regret a half second later. Inside the slot where the blade tucked away, I could see a little more of the blade, and it was grimy, coated in rust coloured stains. It _might_ have been rust had it belonged to another, but I knew better. It was blood. It wasn’t the first time this knife had been used. It wasn’t the first time this scene had been played out.

“Alright there, buddy?” He asked, His voice cheerful and light in a way it had no right to be. My gaze lifted from the knife - noticed how my eyes ached when I blinked, I must had disconnected and stared at it for a while. He was sweating again, a thin layer of it making His nose and chin sheen, His lank hair dangling in His eyes, His gaze almost gentle, almost understanding. It was that false compassion He was capable of that made me hate Him more than anything. “You’re looking a little green at the gills.”

I swallowed hard against my rising gorge, not trusting myself to speak just yet, and couldn’t tell if He wanted me to nod or shake my head. He fiddled with the knife as the silence stretched, sliding the blade back and forth absently. I couldn’t look away from it.

He noticed the focus of my attention and looked at the box cutter too. “Oh, this?” He said as if he’d not been aware he’d been holding it. “I get you. All right, how about we start slow today, hm? Don’t want to overwhelm you now,” the last He said with a stuttered laugh, an excited and eager gleam in His eyes like that was _exactly_ what He wanted. I made my blood run cold, but I nodded all the same, hoping He was being honest.

The knife clattered as He tossed it towards me. I felt a lurch of dread that He’s armed me, disarmed Himself - I’d only been here two days and He’d fucked my head up this much already. The sound of His fly being opened drew my eyes back up to Him, where He leaned back against the workstation with a lazy, predator’s grin. His cock was still flaccid as He drew it out and stroked Himself, and nodded at the knife. “Pick it up. Start cutting.”

My breath hitched as I looked at Him, knowing my only options were _bad_ or _**worse**_. His eyes were bright, almost feverish as He watched me struggle to decide what I should do. He would do something far, far worse to me, I was sure. I was going to bleed and hurt either way, wasn’t it better for it to be in my control?    

It was so much easier thinking that than doing it. He watched so closely as I reached for His knife, His smile a twisted and cruel thing. My fingers closed around the handle, still warm from being in His hand. I wanted, more than anything, to use it on Him. I’d cut His dick right off if I could, slice a smile as cruel and lopsided into His throat is He only came close enough. But He stayed where He was, on the far side of the room, content for now to simply watch.

His entertainment. That’s all my pain was. His pleasure.

My hand shook as I lifted the knife, looking at it. Where to start? _The wrists_ , my inner self whispered. _Kill yourself before He kills you_. But He’d enjoy that, wouldn’t He. He’d like to drive me that far in horror and despair and disgust. So I lowered the blade to my thigh - the right one -  and dragged the knife blade over the meat of my leg. Bright red welled there at once, great round beads that almost glowed in the halogen lights, swelling fat and heavy before running down in thick rivulets. And oh, the sound He made. A long and low groan that chased chills down my spine. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it should. Perhaps the blade was sharper than the ones He had used on me before, maybe I was just adjusting to this.

“Again,” He demanded, stroking Himself with sure, easy strokes.

I swallowed. Almost refused. But if I said no, then He would come to me. He would touch me. He would force me.

So I lifted the knife again and cut a matching line in my left thigh. Well, I say matching - it wasn’t exact. A little off, a little lopsided. He wouldn’t care for that, I knew He was no kind of perfectionist. I couldn’t hold in a whimper of pain as I pulled the metal out of my flesh - feeling as I did so how my skin clung to the blade, as if reluctant for it to go. Blood ran more freely from the second cut, I had gone deeper with it without meaning to.

He made an echoing sound to my whine, all eager hunger, frustrated desperation, _lust_.

I don’t know what drove me to it.

I let the knife drop, and it clattered to rest beside my knee. Blood ran down my thighs in ruby streams, stark and vivid. I smeared it with my shaking fingers, smearing its wet heat over my skin, hissed against the pain as I pressed fingertips over the sliced flesh, a brilliant burn flaring through me. Then I lifted my gore coated fingers to my mouth and _licked them clean_.

He made a sound, animalistic and eager, a groan that crawled up my spine in a shudder of disgust and hate. Why had I done that? _Why had I done that_? I swallowed the taste of my own blood and watched Him - His hand hand stilled on His cock, His eyes burning rabid heat and a terrible grin stretched on His mouth. “Well this is new,” He rasped, lust turning His voice to gravel. “Like how that feels? You’re getting off on this? And here you were, calling _me_ sick. Changed your tune, huh, buddy?”

Fucking hell, what had I done? He liked to see me hurt myself but He loved to see me enjoy it. I wasn’t a masochist (let’s just ignore what I had just done) and I didn’t like any of this. I was in a crazy sadist’s cellar, at the mercy of someone who had none, I was _not_ getting off on the pain… but. But was it the smarter play? Give Him what He wanted? Be pliant, play along, then maybe… maybe He’d let down His guard.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

I locked eyes on Him, didn’t look away as I picked up the knife again and lifted it. Tried not to think about how dirty it was, tried not to think about the pain that would come. Pressed it to my chest, just below my collar bones and pulled it across - heavy red drops welled and ran down my chest at once, the cut deeper than I’d meant. I stopped when I couldn’t go any farther, my breathing almost as ragged as His, but then I forced myself to touch the fresh cut, rubbed at it and felt my face crumple against the pain of it, a gasp hitching hard in my chest, turning to a sob, eyes tearing from the overwhelmed senses. And it was that which broke His control, that sound of utter hopelessness. The speed that He crossed the floor startled me, made me flinch back and lift the knife as if to use it against Him, but He didn’t slow, didn’t even seem concerned I was armed.

His hand was rough as it grabbed my hair, dragged me forwards right to His crotch, the scent of him stronger than I’d known it, catching against my throat on each inhale. “Please-” I tried, a wavering hitch in my tone.

Speaking had been a bad choice on my part, as He shamelessly used the opportunity to press His cock into my mouth, the taste of Him almost overpowering the taste of my own blood. He grasped another handful of hair and started to force me to move as He dictated, face upturned as He fucked my mouth roughly. I felt the shameful heat of tears burning in my eyes, heavy and distorting my sight before they fell, my breath stolen between thrusts.  

He rutted up against the back of my mouth, hard and deliberate, startling me into gagging on Him, my stomach clenching hard. If I’d taken Him up on His offer to eat then I might have hurled, but instead I just dry heaved and frantically tapped at His thigh - as if He followed any of the rules, as if He would stop and make sure I was all right. No, instead He gave my head a shake and growled between grinning teeth, “It’ll go easier if you relax your throat, buddy.”

His hand moved, sliding to the curve where nape met skull, rubbed there as if He were attempting to sooth me before He grasped and pulled, forcing me to take Him all in, deeper than I’d ever taken anyone, into my throat. I jerked and strained, trying to move back, to get Him out, but His grasp was firm and I was not strong enough after days of captivity and self-imposed starvation to get free. All I could do was dig my fingers into the fabric of His pants and _take it_ , struggle to relax my throat like He said as He started to move, tried to gasp in some air when He drew back, my eyes spilling tears down my face as He groaned and stared down at me.

His movements became faster, harsher, lost rhythm as His climax came closer. A shudder passed through Him and He stopped thrusting, stopped moving me - held me tightly in place, nose pressed hard into His pubes. I thought He would come and then pull away and let me breath, leave me alone - but one moment passed, then another and His breathing was loud and ragged and my lungs were burning with the need for air. I rolled my eyes up, and regretted it, seeing how gleeful His expression was as He choked me on His cock. Panic rose - was He going to kill me like this? Was this the end of it? Killed by His fucking dick? The indignation of it spurred me to struggle, a sudden burst of desperate energy. I felt hairs tear from my scalp, then realised _I had teeth_.

Without another moment’s thought, **I bit down**.

And the decision became one of my Top Five Life Regrets real fucking fast.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy it, please comment! Want to prompt or commission me, [come to my blog](http://vilething.tumblr.com/ask)


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